


Revolutions of the Heavenly Spheres

by Liquid_Lyrium



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Books, Ficlet, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Other, Post-Canon, Prompt Fill, References to Shakespeare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:27:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24426517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liquid_Lyrium/pseuds/Liquid_Lyrium
Summary: Written for the first round of "Name That Author!" For the prompt:Six weeks after Armageddon Aziraphale shows up at Crowley's flat with a book.I expanded it ever so slightly from the original limit of 500 words!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 44
Collections: Name That Author Round One





	Revolutions of the Heavenly Spheres

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the first round of "Name That Author!" For the prompt: _Six weeks after Armageddon Aziraphale shows up at Crowley's flat with a book._ I expanded it ever so slightly from the original limit of 500 words!

Forty-two days after the end of the world there’s a knock on his door. He drags himself out of bed and shuffles through his cold and nearly-empty flat. The sound of bare feet on concrete echoes throughout and the hems of his silk pajama trousers catch under his toes. His brain catches up as he pulls the handle, and tells him how stupid he is. Anyone could be on the other side of the door! Hastur, Beelzebub, Satan himself, Mormon missionaries, or a plucky salesperson for whom the _‘No Solicitation’_ sign is merely a helpful suggestion.

The reality is far worse.

It occurs to Crowley, in his rumpled, sleep-drunk haze, that he should have prepared for this little eventuality, but there’s nothing in the safe behind Leo’s drawing to prepare for an unannounced visitation from an angel. (It also occurs to him, vaguely, to be annoyed that it isn’t forty days later. _Do sacred numbers mean nothing anymore?_ Was it just happenstance that it rained that many days and nights? Did Moses wander the desert for forty years in vain? Is he nothing more than a mummy, forgotten beneath the sands?)

Aziraphale is holding a book. He brushes along the spine nervously, and Crowley traces the movements of his hands.

“What’s wrong?” Crowley frowns, reading the nervousness on Aziraphale’s face.

“Nothing! Why would anything be wrong? Does something have to be wrong? Why would you think that?” Aziraphale flicks his eyes up and down Crowley and looks away, cheeks a rather fetching pink.

The breath Crowley doesn’t need catches in his chest. He feels too naked, and he snaps a finger. Immediately a lush (perfectly tailored to accentuate his waist) black satin robe wraps around his chest and shoulders, flash glasses settling on his nose.

Crowley weighs his words carefully as he leans against the doorframe. “You just… you don’t come over to my place.” The very corner of his lip twitches in an attempt at a smile. “Not unless it’s the end of the world.”

Aziraphale opens his mouth, then shuts it. He looks down and turns the book over in his hands. “I just... I wanted to return this.” He holds out a copy of _De revolutionibus orbium coelestium._ One of 277 copies still in existence.

“Oh, of course,” Crowley stares at the book blankly. “I was just thinking how keen I was to read a book I loaned out four-hundred and seventy-six years ago.” He looks back up at Aziraphale and shakes his head. “Keep it, angel.”

Aziraphale thrusts the intricately leather bound tome into his chest, “Please! I have longed to redeliver this remembrance of yours… Rich gifts wax poor when recipients prove unkind.”

Crowley makes a face, but he shifts the book to his hands, “You know I don’t like the gloomy ones.” He idly cracks open the cover, aware of the angel’s gaze in his periphery. He goes still at the slip of parchment tucked inside the cover, and his eyes flick to Aziraphale’s tense and worried face. The breath catches in his lungs and he can’t bring himself to ask _do you mean this?_

He flings the book over his shoulder and crushes his lips over the cry of protest forming there, gripping Aziraphale by the shoulders. Sod the book.

Crowley’s heart starts beating again as Aziraphale winds his arms around his waist and kisses back. He slides his own arms down, wraps them around the angel’s gorgeous, plush, inviting middle. Aziraphale tips his jaw _just so_ , as if he intends to keep kissing Crowley for the next forty-two days, and the serpent poured into a man-shaped mould sways on the spot dizzily. A heartbeat later he starts tugging the angel backwards through the door.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to know what the book looks like you can look at this link [here!](https://www.abebooks.com/servlet/BookDetailsPL?bi=17803050698&cm_mmc=ggl-_-COM_Shopp_Rare-_-naa-_-naa&gclid=CjwKCAjw5cL2BRASEiwAENqAPlPt-qG3nBwNcYvXcECMt2aS7jG1Fa0kGjRRESxKNZkEcBUiaYc4FBoCk6MQAvD_BwE) Also there are only 276 known copies but collectors don't know about this one ;)


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